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“DNA test. I’ll pay for it. Rush it. Please.”
“My parents said my biological parents were drug addicts. Bikers who died doing something stupid.”
“I’ve been sober fifteen years. Before that, yeah, I drank. But never drugs. Never. And I never stopped looking for you. Not one day in thirty-one years.”
She left the room. I sat there in holding for three hours before she came back, phone in hand, face destroyed.
“They admitted it,” she whispered.
“My parents. Adoptive parents. Whatever they are. Amy was Linda’s sister.
She showed up with me when I was two, said my father was dangerous, that we needed new identities.
They helped her hide us. When Amy died in that car accident, they just… kept me. Kept the lie.”
“Sarah—”
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